


(i want ours to be) an endless song

by gealbhan



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Friends to Lovers, Goddess Tower (Fire Emblem), Kissing, Love Confessions, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), what if we kissed... in the goddess tower (and we're both girls!!!)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21655885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gealbhan/pseuds/gealbhan
Summary: “What brings you out here this late, Edie?”“I—I couldn’t sleep.” A line forms between Edelgard’s eyebrows. Dorothea has to hold herself back from smoothing it down. “Too concerned with what could happen in the next several weeks. I have faith in the Black Eagle Strike Force, of course,” she adds, hasty, “and the professor above all else, but—still, I worry.”“No, I absolutely understand.” Dorothea’s smile takes on a sad twist. “I couldn’t sleep either.”
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 10
Kudos: 166





	(i want ours to be) an endless song

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't technically a new year's fic, but i figured it fit well enough anyway, and i wanted to have another little something up this week. here's to 2020!
> 
> title from "love like ghosts" by lord huron. enjoy!

The night air within the Goddess Tower is still, and Dorothea is basking in it.

This place has never meant much to her on a religious level, considering her animosity toward the Church of Seiros (especially as of late). But she has fond memories of it from the ball what seems like decades ago, and the romantic stories surrounding it have never quite left her mind—all of the tall tales are like something out of one of her operas.

So some nostalgia is able to overpower her trepidation. For a moment, walled in by turmoil, Dorothea can find tranquility. She has never thrived in silence, preferring to be loud herself if no one else would, but now it means more to her than, well, she could say.

Somewhere, a bird is singing. Somewhere, a person is singing, too, whether on a stage or alone. Somewhere, battles are being fought and won; fought and lost; and fought and coming to a tie, depending on what side one looks at it from. Somewhere, chaos reigns; somewhere else, peace takes its place. Somewhere, children are being born, relationships are beginning and ending, people are dying—

But here, Dorothea is alone with her thoughts. She’s never been fond of that, but this late at night, she doesn’t have many thoughts with which to occupy herself. She takes deep breaths, one after the other, to quell the worries spilling across her mind. They’re no different from the usual—about her future, about all of their futures, about the blood she can sometimes see on her hands and always feels. Despite the exhaustion washing over her, she’s restless, unable to find sleep, and so she’d stolen away here.

She can’t help but wish she had a cup of tea. It would keep her warm, if nothing else. But alas, she has none on her, and she doubts that she’ll have the energy once she leaves. The familiarity of the Goddess Tower keeps her heart pulsing and her brain working, for better or for worse, and the moon hanging above, her only company, revitalizes her.

Dorothea has just let out another sigh when her reverie is shattered by the sound of footsteps.

She spins on her heel, heartbeat kicking up as she clenches her jaw and prepares a blast of Thoron. Overkill? Maybe. But she’s not willing to take any chances. Back when she worked in the opera company, she’d had to deal with far too much—both herself and on behalf of the other girls—to let anyone get the drop on her.

“Whoever is there,” she says, trembling the slightest bit, “show yourself. _Now_.” She’d never known her voice could curl into a threatening growl like that. It both terrifies and relieves her.

“Relax.” The voice is familiar, and Dorothea inhales again when Edelgard’s face emerges from the shadows. She’s paler and gaunter than usual, warped by the moonlight, but it’s definitely her. “It’s only me.”

Dorothea clasps a no-longer-crackling hand to her chest, which heaves as she struggles to catch her breath. “Oh, Goddess, Edie,” she says, voice undercut with a high, nervous laugh. “You scared the shit out of me. Don’t _do_ that.”

“I do apologize. I’m used to my armor giving me away,” admits Edelgard with the ghost of a smile. “I should have realized when Hubert didn’t immediately burst out of his room to stop me. _Your Majesty,_ ” she says in a deeper voice that Dorothea has to imagine is an imitation of Hubert (it’s not half bad), _“_ _your health is of the utmost importance._ _Please return to your quarters._ _”_

Now that she mentions it, Dorothea notices sheepishly that Edelgard is only wearing a nightdress. Funny—she’d pegged Edie as one to sleep in full-body armor, but she supposes even Her Majesty gets warm in her sleep. Even now, the air is somewhat stuffy with the first balmy breezes of summer. Dorothea can only hope she’ll live to see it in full.

Not that that’s a thought she wants to entertain now. “That’s a pretty good impression,” she says instead, smiling. “I imagine Hubie will appreciate you sneaking away to let him sleep.” She’s seen his dark circles as of late. “That said, what brings you out here this late, Edie?”

“I—I couldn’t sleep.” A line forms between Edelgard’s eyebrows. Dorothea has to hold herself back from smoothing it down. “Too concerned with what could happen in the next several weeks. I have faith in the Black Eagle Strike Force, of course,” she adds, hasty, “and the professor above all else, but—still, I worry.”

“No, I absolutely understand.” Dorothea’s smile takes on a sad twist. “I couldn’t sleep either.”

Edelgard’s face, already gentler in the pale moonlight, softens further. “It’s difficult, no? Between all of the stress and excitement…” She shakes her head, bringing Dorothea’s attention to her undone hair, hanging around her shoulders and curling around her face. It’s mussed with sleep (or rather lack thereof). Dorothea snaps herself back to Edelgard’s words and nods mutely. “Well, I’m happy to know that someone else understands.”

“Same here,” says Dorothea, wringing her hands at her waist. “The world might not get us, but we get each other. That’s enough for now, right?”

For a brief moment, Edelgard only examines her. Then she hums and smiles a bit wider. “That’s an awfully romantic way to phrase it.”

“Well—” Dorothea makes the mistake of glancing at Edelgard again, and her attention is once more waylaid by the statuesque set of Edelgard’s muscular shoulders and arms, bared by her dress. Packing all of those huge axes around has made her much broader over the years. Though Dorothea is handy with a sword herself, she’s nothing next to Edelgard. The cold night air heats around her as she looks away. “Well, I am a songstress, you know. Romanticism is just in my blood.”

“And on your tongue,” says Edelgard, tone on the edge of teasing—but still somewhat guarded. She pauses, tapping her chin, and adds, “Say, Dorothea.”

“Yes?” The response is little more than a breath.

“It isn’t the night of the ball—” as much as it pains her to admit, it had been so long ago that now Dorothea doesn’t even recall the date, only how she’d worn off her feet from all the spinning “—nor is either of us a man, but—we _are_ in the Goddess Tower. Why not make a wish?”

“Are we to wish for the same thing, then?” Dorothea chuckles despite herself. “I’m afraid I’m not a powerful enough mage to read your mind, Edie, and I don’t think you can read mine either.”

“Well, we could each make our own separate wishes,” allows Edelgard. “Since we’re already fucking with so many of the traditions.”

“Edie! Swearing in the house of the Goddess? Shame on you.” Shaking her head, Dorothea clicks her tongue in mocking disappointment, drawing laughter from Edelgard. Dorothea can hardly keep her own face straight. “But—I suppose you’re right. Let’s make a wish, then.”

She extends her pinkie to Edelgard, a childish action that she regrets when Edelgard only stares. Then, with a huff of a laugh, Edelgard links it with hers and gives it a good shake—she isn’t wearing her gloves, and her skin is cool against Dorothea’s. Temperature aside, Dorothea jerks back as if scalded. She hopes Edelgard doesn’t take offense, but it seems Edelgard hasn’t noticed; she’s tilted her chin up and turned back to face the sky.

Dorothea watches her, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. She knows she should wish for something practical: Victory in the difficult battles ahead; a hard-won better life for them and Fódlan at large; a quick end to the war so all of this suffering, theirs and their enemies’ alike, is put to an end. But—

But she’s always been a little selfish, she supposes, and despite her nerves, her confidence in Edelgard and the professor remains unshaken. Even on their own, the two are strong—together, plus the might of the Black Eagle Strike Force? There’s no competition. They will prevail—they _must_.

So Dorothea figures Edelgard’s wish (for Edelgard would never wish for anything but success) will have to suffice, and instead, she looks at Edelgard, closes her eyes, and wishes for her.

Not _for her_ in the sense that a greedy noble would wish to own her or anything to that effect—Dorothea has never sought such power, and she knows Edelgard would not appreciate being thought of as a possession. No, Dorothea wishes for the gift of Edelgard’s presence. To stand at her side no matter what. To be with her in any sense of the word.

Dorothea can think of no better wish than to have Edelgard in her life as long as possible. As a child, she might have wished for wealth, which will be all but useless in Edelgard’s world, or true happiness, which is really what her wish boils down to.

When she opens her eyes, Edelgard’s are already upon her. Dorothea tenses under those watchful purple eyes, unsure how much Edelgard can glean from her face. Not much, she assumes—Edelgard doesn’t seem to have people down as well as Dorothea (though, rooted in experiences she’d had younger than she should have, that understanding is more based around preconceived notions and cynicism than she’d like to admit)—but one could never be sure with clever Edie.

“So,” says Edelgard, neutral. “What did you wish for?”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” says Dorothea, flushing despite the chill of the night. “If you tell someone what you wished for, it won’t come true, right?”

“Hmm. Does that apply here?”

Dorothea folds her arms in consideration. “You know,” she says in a conspiratorially low voice, and Edelgard leans closer to hear her better, “I think the people who spread all of the legends about the Goddess Tower were just a bunch of stupid assholes.”

That startles a laugh out of Edelgard. Not a reserved chuckle like Dorothea is used to, either: A full-blown guffaw, undignified and snorting, on the verge of side-splitting. Dorothea stares in open—yet enamored—shock.

Her wide eyes must give Edelgard the wrong impression, for she covers her mouth with a hand and stills the quake of her shoulders. “I’m—I’m sorry,” she chokes out behind her palm.

Moving on instinct, Dorothea reaches out to take Edelgard by the wrist, fingers loose around the smooth skin, and tug Edelgard’s hand away from her mouth. “You don’t have to stop,” she says. “Your laugh is lovely, Edie.”

Edelgard, gaze transfixed upon Dorothea, mumbles something that Dorothea can’t quite make out. When Dorothea taps her ear in question, Edelgard lowers her head and says, clearer, “El.”

“Sorry?” asks Dorothea.

Edelgard coughs, delicate as ever, into her fist. “You—if you so wish, you may call me El.”

“Oh? Do you not like being called Edie?” Dorothea chews her lip, dropping Edelgard’s hand. It falls unceremoniously to Edelgard’s side. “I apologize if I’ve been making you uncomfortable all this time—I’ll stop, if you’d like.”

“No, please, you needn’t do that,” urges Edelgard. “I—I quite enjoy you calling me Edie, in fact. I simply—well.” She tilts her chin back up. That sharp exterior overtakes the brief break of vulnerability once more. “I feel that we’ve grown closer over the years, and in the past, some of my closest friends and relatives have referred to me as El, so I feel that it would be right for you to as well. If you so wish, anyway.”

“El, huh,” says Dorothea, trying it out on her tongue. She doesn’t fail to notice the flash of _something_ in Edelgard’s eyes, an emotion as sharp and brittle as shattered glass, but Edelgard doesn’t tell her not to use the nickname after all, so Dorothea continues, “You don’t have to wear the mask around me, El.”

Edelgard falters. “Pardon?”

“As you said, we’re close, aren’t we?” Edelgard nods, hesitant, and Dorothea narrows her eyes. “And yet, even though you’re only wearing a nightgown, you’ve still got some armor on. I know you’re not exactly a _heart on your sleeve_ sort of person, but you don’t even have sleeves on right now, Edie.” She doesn’t think she’ll stop using that nickname—it’s hers, and Edelgard had said she liked it.

It takes a long stretch of silence before Edelgard so much as moves. “You’re right,” she says, shifting on her feet. When she meets Dorothea’s gaze, she glances away after a second. That second is all Dorothea needs to notice the more open expression, the exhaustion that seeps in as soon as Edelgard stops forcing herself to not let it show. “I’m sorry. And—thank you.”

“Thank you too. For letting me in.” Dorothea smiles, allowing her own emotional mask to fall. Edelgard is shrewd enough that Dorothea knows she wouldn’t let Dorothea get away with such hypocrisy, and Edelgard’s shoulders slacken when Dorothea takes a deep breath.

And, well, there’s still an elephant in the room. This is the climax of the opera, Dorothea knows; the peak of the action, where the leads look at one another before bursting into song, whether that song is tragic or joyous or both at once, because operas (and life, which art reflects and which reflects art) are funny like that.

For a moment, Dorothea considers leaving. Finding the sleep she’d sought in the first place or (more likely) tossing and turning for hours. She hasn’t been a songstress for some time, and her life isn’t a story with a perfect plot that wraps up with a final duet and a bow on top. Insecurities twine around her ankles like the tree sprouting from the Goddess Tower.

But Dorothea has never been one for stage fright, not frightened of looking anyone in the eye save her reflection, and so she decides she has nothing to lose now and steps closer. Closer, she can identify less of how the moonlight captures Edelgard’s striking profile, but closer, she can see the moles dotting her face and bare neck like constellations. Closer, she can see the dark circles beneath Edelgard’s eyes. Closer, she can see the light in those otherwise dull eyes.

Closer, she can lower her head so her lips hover above Edelgard’s ear. “Can I tell you a secret, Edie?” she asks in a whisper, and is gratified when Edelgard shivers and nods. Dorothea swallows and brings herself to admit, “My wish—it was to always be by your side.”

A laugh bubbles out of Edelgard—Dorothea is close enough that she feels more than hears it. She would pull back in concession were it not for Edelgard’s hand rising to press her hand to Dorothea’s cheek, tilting her face so they’re eye-to-eye once more. The emotion in Edelgard’s eyes, almost watering, catches Dorothea off-guard.

“What a coincidence,” says Edelgard, smiling, “for I wished for the same thing.”

Dorothea’s bravado shatters. Her breath catches in her throat, tearing up just like Edelgard. “Truly?” she asks, leaning back to take in the earnest set of Edelgard’s face in full. “You—you wished for… for me? There are so many other wishes you could make, people you could choose—you’re the _emperor_ , Edie, and I’m—”

“—a precious companion and dear friend,” finishes Edelgard. Her hand, now shaking, falls away from Dorothea’s cheek, but it doesn’t go far, landing on Dorothea’s shoulder. A thumb smooths absently along Dorothea’s collarbone. “True, there are many other wishes I could make; but right now, with you, none seemed more prudent than to stand by you as long as we both shall live.”

“I—oh,” Dorothea says—exhales, really. Something still tugs in her stomach, her lifelong insecurities far from permanently dismissed, but she can’t quite argue with Her Majesty’s undivine judgment. Still—“You said ‘friend.’ But I meant, ah, more along the lines of—”

“As did I,” interrupts Edelgard, averting her gaze.

That takes a longer time to sink in. Edelgard makes no move to rush Dorothea’s reaction—in fact, she almost steps back before Dorothea lays her hand atop hers. Seeing the emperor embarrassed (over something like this to boot) sparks something within Dorothea. This should be familiar ground, but she hasn’t ever experienced a situation quite like this, and she finds herself wobbling on her feet as she slides into the quicksand of genuine affection toward her.

Her fingers curl around Edelgard’s. She takes in a shuddering breath, feeling a smile spread across her face even as she struggles to say, “Can I—”

Edelgard is already nodding, already leaning up on her toes. _I guess telling someone your wish won’t jinx it after all,_ is all Dorothea can think as she leans down to meet Edelgard in the middle, their mouths fitting together.

And, well, Edelgard isn’t the best kisser Dorothea has ever known, but she’s far from the worst either. Her enthusiasm makes up for her inexperience. Dorothea, though at first almost bowled backward, gets ahold of herself enough to twine her arms around Edelgard’s waist and tug her closer. Edelgard’s hand remains on Dorothea’s shoulder, and her free hand comes up toward the back of Dorothea’s head, tilting it just so. Her fingers twine through Dorothea’s hair. Dorothea wants to return the favor—and can, with Edelgard’s hair loose from that painful-looking (yet very appealing) crown—but for now, she keeps her arms secured around Edelgard’s torso, relishing in how such a strong person will not only let her do so but encourage it, bowing into Dorothea’s grasp.

It feels like—

It feels like coming home, Dorothea wants to say, but that isn’t quite accurate. It isn’t as portrait-perfect as that, because Dorothea had been home all along, here in the nest of the Black Eagles, and this is only an extension of that warm feeling. It’s safe and comforting despite the once-oppressive air of the monastery grounds. It’s not perfect, but it’s _them_ , and that makes it so anyway.

This is it, Dorothea realizes. This is what she’d been looking for all along. She can’t imagine a life where she doesn’t stumble this, even with all of the circumstances surrounding their accidental late-night rendezvous.

They break for breath, but neither seems to actually breathe once they pull apart. Edelgard’s eyes are slow to open, and when they do, she looks up to Dorothea. A moment passes in which they only stare at each other.

Then Edelgard straightens, her eyes going wide. “Oh! I’m so—I hadn’t even—” Crimson spills across Edelgard’s cheeks, and she clears her throat, averting her gaze for a split second before returning it to Dorothea. “I—I love you, Dorothea. More than those words can possibly express, but—I hope you’ll understand, I’m not nearly as talented with the art of poetry and song as you are.”

If Edelgard’s earlier confession had stolen the breath out of Dorothea, then this one robs her of her heartbeat, too. The two of them are still so close, sharing breath that fogs the air, and in contrast to her cool exterior, Edelgard is warm and alive against Dorothea, her hesitant toothy smile open and ardent, the weight of her words leaving no doubt as to her honesty.

Dorothea has heard those words— _I love you—_ before. She’s said them, even. But never in her life has she heard them spoken with such sincerity, by someone seeing her for _her_ rather than her face and voice alone. Tears well up in her eyes just witnessing the love fanning out across Edelgard’s face.

“Edie…” Her arms tighten around Edelgard. She could have said _El_ again, but in this moment, she wants to make her own mark upon Edelgard’s life, independent of those who have called her that in the past. “Of all of the ballads I’ve sung in my time,” says Dorothea, voice as soft and shaky as the breeze blowing through the tower, “they all pale in comparison to hearing you say those three words.”

“I mean them,” says Edelgard gently.

“Exactly,” says Dorothea with a disbelieving, wet laugh. She swallows down the tears, Edelgard’s hands keeping her grounded, and lets another peal of laughter slip free. Much to her relief, Edelgard seems enraptured, not hurt. “I—my beloved Edie,” manages Dorothea, clearing the choke out of her voice, “I love you too. How could I not?”

And as the two sink back into each other’s arms, washed in the light of the moon and stars, so strong is their determination that they may as well have wished for victory after all.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading! if you have time to spare, comments and kudos are always appreciated <3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/withlittlequill) | [tumblr](http://infernallegaycy.tumblr.com)


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